


Hotline

by ineffective



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Magic, Blogger Stiles, Blogging, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 04:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffective/pseuds/ineffective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a new alpha in Beacon Hills.<br/>Meanwhile, Stiles manages to piss off his two favorite werewolves. No surprise there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hotline

Alright, alright, I give. I get it – real blogs are so 2009. These days, it’s all about the quick-ping social media. Us teenagers, we’ve invested ourselves in tumblrs and tweeting and uploading quick snaps of our mid-range domesticities onto instagram (if we don’t just snapchat them to an ever-widening circle of friends). But what can I say. I want – well, no. I need. I need somewhere slower. Longer. I’ve, suffice it to say, been having a bit of that quintessentially clichéd “rough week,” for the past fifty to seventy of them. It all started when my main man, partner-in-crime, would-be sidekick got all juiced up on lunar fumes (to be fair, a werewolf bite’d do that to the best of us) and all of a sudden, abracadabra the whole town of Beacon Hills got stirred up into some freaky supernatural stew. One week, I’m doe-eyed at the effervescent, prodigal divinity that is Lydia Martin, chewing the convenience mart out of spare erasers, while my dad complains about how shiny his shoes have been of late. The next, Scott’s been bitten by a monster (no, I’m not being freakin’ lupophobic, if I can even coin the phrase – it’s a long story, but man. Peter was a charmer. Is. Not much improved after he was torched and buried), has been joined and split and rejoined at the hip from his (impeccably perfect, dimpled, kickass) hunter beau, and dad’s boots are suddenly so slick with blood and gore that I’ve solved that whole “next Christmas present” issue. It’s not easy, finding presents for the sheriff – but boots. Policeman. I’ll spare myself the breath (ink, electricity, whatever) and just tell you: six words. Terry Pratchett, Discworld Series, Commander Vimes. You won’t regret it.

  
Man, digressions. If you wanna be fancy, call it an excursus. Latin fancifies things, it’s a proven fact. Like, have you even read Catullus? You’d think I was all SAT-vocab, erudite and sophisticated, if I whipped out some of his poetry to you…that is, until I informed you that the whole “pedicabo et irrumabo” business? That’s him promising his friends that he’ll shove his package in their mouths. And asses. Yeah, the Romans had verbs for that. We could learn something from them, actually. I mean, there’s a florid beauty to “he shoved his pulsating member into the quivering hole,” but like. It’s pretty inefficient, word-count wise. Plus, if I learned one thing from Ten Things I Hate About You, it’s that there are only so many combinations of the adjectives quivering/engorged/pulsating and member/package/wiener before the audience tones down the arousal and dials up the laughter. At your expense.  
Shit, following a digression with a digressive digression on digressions. I’d blame it on my ADD, baby, but I think I’d better place the blame where it really belongs. Avoidance issues, trauma, the whole shebang. I’ve got to quit while I’m ahead, because I really want to delve into the etymology of “shebang” while simultaneously indulging in some brie-level euphemisms. So. I’ll create a list. A to-do list. Like, writing topics. I’ll catch up all the crickets and howling desert winds on my sad, sad dilemmas, and maybe then this can be a sort of a record. Let’s call it a diary, because if you think that’s supposed to signal tiaras and five-year-old pink fluff, I’m going to frown at you in disappointment. From under my glorious, gorgeous tiara.

**Things Stiles Will Record and Explore in his Shitty, Out-Dated Blog**  
getting ignored (for justified and dubious reasons)  
how to be (and date) a teenage pansexual  
derek hale and his band of merry woodland critters of the night  
like, selkies. witches. half-human, half-elk (centaurs are, apparently, inaccurate)  
did i forget to mention that the whole witches thing might have been self-referential  
packs???? status?????  
how to deal with sudden surges of power

um. no. this list is not entirely doing the trick. I’m still dancing around the issue.  
See, the real problem started when after I’d progressed pretty far down the magical checklist of witch apprenticeship tasks, skipping the boring ones, of course, and, while perusing some texts I’d pilfered from one of Deaton’s grudgingly revealed stacks, maybe found some potentially tempting power-related spells. Spell, really, is the problem. I only memorized it on a whim, I swear! And the ingredients were all so shockingly accessible, I didn’t really scavenge for them or anything. Anyway. I wasn’t ever going to do anything with it. I wasn’t planning to, at least. But. Scott and Derek just bicker so incessantly, about their territory and who needs to belong to whose pack and efficiency and tradition and debts and last week. Well. They boiled over at each other, eyes flashing, claws flared, maybe shed some blood. Which, I know, par for the course, healing powers, shouldn’t have rattled me so much, yadda yadda. But, seeing as I was currently horizontally chained around a treebranch, ten feet off the ground, with my mouth duct-taped and my attention fixed wistfully on the bloodthirsty gaggle of weird elk people goring wounds into Isaac even as the wounds healed, and how Peter was strung up across from me (well, that part I wasn’t so bothered about), Allison was almost face-to-face with one of them, last of two arrows nocked between her fingers….Yeah, I was a tad annoyed. You know, with their timing. And, since there’s no such thing as Alpha Boot Camp or some sort of hotline to phone when you’ve got shitty leadership in your local packs. I may have dug up that spell. Not all that old, actually, more of the work of some genius spell-artist some couple centuries back who had a bit of an avant-garde approach the whole “rules, traditions, and logic” deal. Because, it turns out, his spell worked. Splendidly. What did it do, you ask? You’re just salivating to know, I’m sure. Anyway. My windows and door have been blockaded by mountain ash and my walls have a fancy new sheen of spelled soundproofing on them, because yippee! As of three hours ago, I’m the new “alpha” of the Beacon Hills packs. Plural. I am still unabashedly, red-bloodedly, human. Magical transferal of power-bonds. I’m totally screwed. There definitely isn’t a hotline for this problem.

**Author's Note:**

> alright so i haven't actually ever written a completed multichapter fic, which is what i'm hoping for this to be. if people like it. if one person likes it. you. hi. thanks.  
> this is likely the only chapter which will be formatted like a blog post - the rest will be 3rd person centering around stiles and his antics.
> 
> find me on tumblr @ remymarathe or julietchaild  
> totally one person here


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